


Let's Play a Game

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Evil Trickster, M/M, Mentions of Top Dean, Psychological Torture, Rape, Torture, Violence, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 10:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: What if Gabriel wasn’t the trickster archangel everyone thought he was but something infinitely darker and more dangerous?Written for the 2018 Supernatural Eldritch Bang.





	Let's Play a Game

Title: Let’s Play a Game

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 6500

Pairings: Dean/Sam

Warnings: Time Shifted Episode, Changing Channels AU, Canon Divergence, Language, Mentions of Wincest, Psychological and Physical Torture, Gore, Violence, Rape, Evil!Trickster

Summary: What if Gabriel wasn’t the trickster archangel everyone thought he was but something infinitely darker and more dangerous?

A/N: So, yeah. I did this thing. I write horror in my original fiction, but my fanfic is usually the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff. This? This isn't that. This is so not that. lol

I loved this challenge and was honored to be part of it.

I'm also honored to have an amazing artist! [oddsocksandstuff](https://oddsocksandstuff.tumblr.com/post/179799317091/my-artwork-for-the-spneldritchbang-the-fic-is-by)'s art was perfect! It's dark and captured the cloying, closed in feeling I was going for perfectly! Scroll down or click her name to see this wonderful art!!!! 

 

**Let’s Play a Game**

_Changing Channels: Saw Edition_

 

“What are you watching?”

“Some hospital show. Dr. Sexy, MD. I think it's based on a book or something.”

“When did you hit menopause?”

“Right before I punched you in the face,” Dean snorted. “It's called channel surfing.” Dean flipped off the TV and rolled off the bed.

“You ready?”

Sam shrugged into his suit jacket. “Are you?”

**

“So it’s a bear?” Sam started.

“Yeah, which is why we’re wondering exactly what the FBI is doing here.”

“We tend to be concerned when locals start getting their heads ripped off,” Dean snarked, glaring at the officer.

“Bill Randolph died from a bear attack.”

“Exactly how sure are you that it was a bear?”

“What else would it be?”

“We just think it’s a bit uncommon that a bear would follow him through the woods, burst through his front door, climb upstairs after him and then kill him in his own bedroom.” Dean paused for a moment. “Does that seem normal to you?”

“Depends how pissed off it is, I guess. Look, the Randolphs live way up in high country. You got trout runs to make a grown man cry,” the officer stopped, “and bears.”

“Uh-huh. And the witness?”

“My heart goes out to that poor woman.”

“She said it was a bear?”

“Kathy Randolph went through a hell of a trauma. She's confused.”

Sam and Dean shared a quick glance. “We’re gonna need her in here.”

**

“It must have been a bear. I mean, what else could it have been?”

“Mrs. Randolph, what did you think it was at first?”

“It doesn’t matter. I remember it clearly now. It was definitely a bear.”

“We're sure it was. But it helps us to hear every angle. So just tell us what you thought you saw.”

“It's impossible, but...I could have sworn I saw...the Incredible Hulk.” Kathy peeked at the FBI officers in front of her. “I told you it was crazy.”

“Bana or Norton?”

“Oh, no, those movies were terrible. The TV Hulk.”

“Lou Ferrigno.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“You think I'm crazy.”

“No. No. Not at all. It’s just...is there any reason that Lou Ferrigno, the Incredible Hulk, would have a grudge against your husband?”

“No.”

Dean nodded. Of course not. It’s Lou Ferrigno. “No.”

**

“Find anything?”

“A hole.”

“A hulk sized hole by any chance?”

“Yeah.”

“Dammit.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I just don’t know. Did you find anything?”

“Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper. Two counts of spousal battery, bar fights, and court-ordered anger management sessions. You could say...” Dean paused dramatically, “...you wouldn't like him when he's angry.”

“Sooo, this is a karma thing?” Sam grimaced and cursed under his breath. “It’s starting to make sense.”

“It is?”

“I found something else at the crime scene.” Sam dragged his hand into and back out of his pocket. “Candy wrappers.”

“Goddammit.”

“Yeah, looks like the Trickster is back.”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to kill him since that bullshit in Broward County.”

“You and me both Dean.”

“I know, Sammy.”

“But...”

“But? No buts, Sammy.”

“I’m just saying. He’s one of the most powerful creatures we’ve ever come up against. Maybe we could… talk to him.”

“About what?”

“Maybe he hates angels and demons as much as we do. Maybe we can appeal to his ego. Maybe he’ll help us.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean started to pace. “You want to try to use the Trickster. The same person that murdered me a thousand times.”

“The world is gonna end and soon. We don’t have the luxury to turn away any leads. I’m just saying it’s worth a shot. We’ll kill him if we have to.”

“How are we gonna find him?”

“He never takes just one victim. He likes to wreak as much havoc as he can. He’ll show, hopefully sooner than later.”

**

_Dispatch? I got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6._

 

“Dean. Hey.” Sam called.

 

Dean stopped sharpening stakes and focused on the crackling police scanner.

 

_Roger that. What are you looking at there, son?_

_Honestly, Walt, I… I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just—send everybody._

_All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way._

 

“That certainly sounds weird. That has to be our guy.”

“Yep. Let’s go.”

**

“Is this the right place?”

“It’s the only mill on Route 6, so it has to be.”

“So, there was a murder, and there are no police cars, no people. How's that look to you?”

“Suspicious.”

Dean grabbed a couple stakes and flashlights and passed Sam’s over. “Well, here we go.”

Sam and Dean stepped through the mill door – and found themselves in a hospital.

“What the fuck?”

Two doctors passed by.

“Doctor,” they both greeted Sam and Dean who just stared.

“Did they say doctor? What’s the Trickster up to now?”

“I don’t know Sammy, but I don’t like it one bit.” Dean turned back to the door they just entered through and wrenched it open. It was now a janitor’s closet and there was a couple in it making out. “We’re fucked, Sammy. Keep your eyes open.”

A dark-haired doctor approached Sam and Dean.

“Doctor,” she greeted them, then slapped Sam.

“Ow!”

“Seriously,” she said.

“What?”

“Seriously? You’re brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You’re a brilliant coward.”

Sam repeated, “What?”

The doctor slapped him again. “As if you don't know!”

Dean stared after her, flabbergasted as she stalked off. “I can't believe this,” he started.

“You know what. I can’t either. This seemed like more fun when I thought it up after I learned you two were here.”

“Trickster,” Sam growled.

“In the flesh.”

“We’re going to...”

The Trickster snapped his fingers.

**

Dean couldn’t see anything. “Sammy!” He called, feeling his way around. He was lying on his back in what felt like some kind of box. “Sammy!” His fingers curled into a polyester nest below him. A coffin. Dean began pounding on the top, yelling for Sam. There was no hollow ringing like you’d expect from a coffin above ground. Dean was buried alive.

“Howdy boys. It’s been awhile,” the Trickster cackled then dropped his tone. “Let’s play a game. Tell me, Dean. What’s your biggest nightmare? Hmm? Your worst fear? No, no. Don’t answer. Save your breath. You’re going to need it.”

Dean started to growl.

“I’m not kidding, Dean. Save your breath. Sammy’s life depends on it.” The Trickster laughed softly. “Oh, now I’ve got your attention. Maybe I should have started with that, huh? Everyone who’s ever met you knows exactly what your biggest fear is, Dean.” Trickster paused. “Losing Sam.”

Dean clamped his teeth closed and stopped himself from screaming. Sam was nowhere near, that was clear. He’d have answered Dean if he was. _If he could._

“Where you find yourself isn’t new to you, Dean. You woke up underground at least once before. You made it out then. If you want to save Sam, you need to do it again.” There was a snapping sound and digital numbers appeared in the darkness in front of Dean. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Make them count.”

Dean began to feel around the interior, trying to get his bearings and figure out the construction of the box.

“Oh, and Dean,” the Trickster continued, “I’d hurry if I were you. Sam is depending on you.”

Suddenly, all Dean could hear was Sam screaming.

“Dean? Dean? Where are you? No. You’re not real. You’re not him! No!”

The screams faded.

“Thirty minutes, Dean.”

 

 

The air became heavier every moment. Dean’s shoulders were pressed against the walls of the coffin, and his rib cage was only inches from the top. His fingers were bleeding and raw, but he kept clawing at the wooden top. He could barely breathe. He was cloaked with sweat.

The numbers were counting down and he found himself staring at it more than once, wasting precious time.

“I’m coming, Sammy. Hang on.”

He needed leverage, and he wasn’t getting it. He twisted, hammering the top with his shoulder, his knee, the very small amount of movement he was able to generate doing little.

_Twenty minutes. Fifteen._

Dean lost it, clawing and kicking and slamming into the top, screaming for Sammy all the way.

_Twelve minutes. Ten._

A sliver of cool air. Dean screamed, his voice failing halfway through from lack of air. Dean hammered at that sliver until it widened enough to fit his fingers through.

_Eight minutes._

He rested for a moment, collecting all his strength. Pushing and screaming, he finally shattered one of the boards in the top. Gulping precious air, he grabbed the next board, then the next, wrenching them out of the way with brute strength and determination.

There was no light. There was no dirt. But there was air. Dean erupted from the coffin, rolling over the edge, his head ringing from the heat and lack of air.

“I made it, you bastard,” he croaked, “where’s Sam?”

There was nothing for a moment but the Trickster laughing and a bright, blinding light.

“Good job, Deano. I knew you’d never let Sammy down.”

“Where is Sam?” Dean screamed.

“Why, he’s all around you, Deano. Take your pick.”

As Dean adjusted to the light, the first thing he saw was a solid steel door. He rose to his knees, eager to check out the door, when soft sounds pierced the ringing in his ears. Moaning and whimpering.

“Sam?” Dean looked around frantically and for the first time noticed bodies scattered around him on the floor. “Sam!”

Dean scrambled to the closest body and flipped the man over. It was Sam. “Oh god, Sam. Are you okay?”

“Dean?” The cry came from behind him.

“Dean?” This one beside him.

Dean went to each man. They were all Sam.

Sam before he went to Stanford. Sam about the time Dean got back from hell. Sam battered and bruised and from just a few years ago. Sam cold and still and soulless. Sam when he was ten.

His brother was everywhere.

“Time for a new game, Deano. Through that door, you will find your real brother. Probably.”

Dean rushed to the door, but it was locked.

“You’re going to need a key, Dean. One of your brothers holds that key. All you need to do is find it.”

Dean was already searching the first Sam, growling when he found his pockets and hands empty. He’d moved to the next when the Trickster spoke again.

“Sometimes, what you need comes from within, Deano. You have twenty minutes.”

A scalpel clattered to the floor beside him.

“No.”

“Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds,” the Trickster trilled.

Dean picked up the knife.

*

He was shaking. He’d vomited so much his stomach muscles were screaming and his throat was raw from bile. His shredded fingers soothed each Sam before he cut them open. They didn’t move, _they never moved_ , but boy did they scream.

“Dean why?”

“Dean that hurts.”

“No, Dean please. No.”

Tears and snot streaked his face and he had to wipe them away to be able to make the next cut.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. They’re not real.” He whispered it over and over, interrupted only by more puking.

 _Nine minutes._ He’d found it.

Sam’s ( _no, not Sam, not Sam_ ) body was warm and slippery with blood and fluid. The key was nestled in the cradle of Sam’s pelvis ( _not Sam, not Sam_ ) tied obscenely with a gore soaked bow. Dean reached in, fat and flesh closing on his wrist as he did.

_Eight minutes._

He pulled one side away, grabbed the key and dragged it from the body, never looking toward its face.

_Seven minutes. Six._

Dean flung the door wide.

And stepped into hell.

**

“Dean, Dean, Dean. This should be simple for you.”

There was a flare of literal hellfire, and Dean was driven to his knees. “No.”

“The rack hasn’t been the same since you left and Sammy killed Alastair.”

“No.”

“Come on, Dean. They’re lined up for you. Neat and orderly.”

Dean stared at the line of cursed souls.

“No.”

“Don’t stop now, Deano. This should be the simplest game you know. Alastair’s best apprentice,” phantom fingers shifted through Dean’s filthy hair, “and his biggest failure. You’re a slippery one, Dean. We can’t quite keep our hands on you, can we?”

Dean gagged as someone was strapped onto a table.

“Crossroad demons, reapers, Alastair, Cain… Not even being a Knight of Hell could keep you for very long, could it, Dean?” The Trickster spat, “of course that one was Sammy’s fault, wasn’t it? He snatched you right out of our fingers. But that’s okay. We’ve got you back, now haven’t we?”

There was a squeal and Trickster’s voice tinny and flat over an intercom. “Line up, ladies and gentleman, the Righteous Man has returned! It is a limited engagement, so shuffle shuffle, get it in gear. First come, first tortured!” The intercom switched off.

“There’s no time limit for this one, Dean. You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“I won’t...”

“Sammy will be sorry to hear that, Dean. Let me just go...”

“Goddamn you.”

“Like I would even care,” the Trickster snorted.

A freight elevator trundled to a stop near Dean.

“Maybe you don’t want to save Sam. Is that it?”

Dean growled but didn’t answer.

“We’ve seen how you treat each other, Dean. Calling him a monster. Telling him you would hunt him. Him leaving you in purgatory. You’ve cut each other to bloody ribbons with your fists and your words more times than I can count. You more than Sam, I think. I don’t know. I’ve lost track.

“Maybe it would be better. Don’t you agree Deano? Hell, you can’t even seem to fuck each other without _some_ kind of damage, can you? And isn’t _that_ one convoluted ball of crazy we don’t even want to get started on.”

Dean keened, a sharp, painful sound.

“I tell you what, Dean. I’m not without sympathy.” Everything ground to a halt when Trickster let out a sharp whistle. A heavy door popped open off to Dean’s right. “You don’t want to torture anymore? So be it. I know what you went through, Dean. I saw every bit of it.” The door swung open even farther. “You’re free to walk away.”

Dean stared at the door, the sunshine bright and beautiful outside it.

“Sammy...”

“No. You walk and Sammy stays. You have thirty seconds to decide, Dean.”

Dean crawled onto the elevator.

Trickster just shook his head. “Zachy boy wasn’t kidding, was he? You really are psychotically, irrationally, erotically co-dependent. I thought he was just being his usual asshole self.”

Metal ground and the elevator descended to the killing floor.

*

Dean was soaked in blood. It saturated his clothes so heavily he had removed his shirt because the heat of hell caused flash drying patches that stuck to his skin and impaired his movements. The fine hairs on his chest were coated in moments, and the thatches under his arms were thick with sweat and gore.

Dean was methodical. He was deadly. He was insane.

He cut, he pounded, he clawed, he tore, he burned.

His hands stopped shaking and the stink of burnt flesh faded from his nose, even when it was his own. Skin sizzled and popped and split on his fingers as he set fire to one damned soul after another. The white of his bones stained pink then red then black. His arm shattered under the pressure of rending limbs in slow excruciating pulls from bodies too damaged to even stay on the rack.

But he healed. Every time. He healed.

The people under his fingers did not.

There was nothing in his eyes but madness. The butcher had taken over completely. Alastair appeared, circling him and he worked, belittling and encouraging him in equal measure – just like he’d done when Dean was in hell the first time.

There was a stifling silence. A driven, battered soul with one goal – get Sammy no matter what.

Soon, there was nothing of Dean left. Until the Trickster brought him back.

Dean froze, intestines wrapped around his forearm, the sound of labored whining from a tongueless mouth suddenly louder than screaming and wailing. He opened his hand and pushed the organs off him in revulsion when a flash of plaid caught his eye.

_No. No. No._

Not-Sam was barely recognizable, but Dean fixated on the mole beside the smashed and destroyed nose.

Someone was screaming but Dean could only stand, staring at the person in the floor at his feet.

Dean couldn’t breathe. He could feel the heat of hell scorching his esophagus and packing his lungs with cotton wool on fire.

How long had he been torturing Sammy? _Not Sam, Not Sam._

How long had it been his brother? _Not Sam, Not Sam._

Had it been Sammy all along? _Not Sam, Not Sam._

There is a noise that the earth makes – a maddening, grating hum. Not everyone can hear it, but it is there, and those that can wish they didn’t. You may only hear it at night, and it will pause with the slightest of interruptions – whirling around to look for it, a particularly heavy breath – but it will never ever stop.

Dean had the sound of the world in his ears and hellfire in his lungs. He couldn’t move but could no longer support himself and he collapsed, the side of his face pressed into the blood of the creature now underneath his body. He felt it slosh against his lips, and he knew. Just a little taste and he would know. He would have proof.

He knew what his Sammy tasted like – his spit, his semen, his blood. _He kn_ _e_ _w._ This was vile and bitter and decayed in his mouth. It was not his brother. He reached out anyway. Clutched frayed and torn skin.

Then he slept.

**

“Welcome back, Dean. I was worried you’d miss out on all the fun. Come, come. It’s Sammy’s turn.”

“No, wait. Please. Leave Sam alone. I’ll do whatever you want. Just...leave Sam alone.”

“That’s not how it works, Deano. We’re playing a game. And everyone knows that games are more fun the more people that play. Besides… Don’t you think Sam would be mad he didn’t get to join in? That you hogged all the joy? We wouldn’t want Sam any more angry with you than he always is, now would we?”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but the Trickster stopped him.

“Pay attention, Deano. We’re starting.”

*

Sam was back in the cage. It was clear he was in hell, or at least the illusion of it. It looked and smelled and sounded exactly like he remembered. Whatever the Trickster might be, he was thorough.

The longer he was here, the more he was beginning to panic. He hadn’t had Lucifer in his head for a long time, but he’d always felt like there was only one thin, flimsy wall keeping him out. He kept repeating to himself that it was only an illusion.

“Is it, though?”

Sam started, surprised.

The Trickster laughed. “You don’t know me, Sam. You don’t know what I am or what I can do. You don’t know if this is all fake or if you are really back here.” Trickster patted the bars of the cage. “You know it’s not really a cage at all, right? It only appears this way because your mortal mind couldn’t comprehend anything else. No, it’s much more than iron bars, but you’ll come to see that. In time.”

“Let us go, Trickster, and I promise we’ll leave you alone.”

The Trickster snorted, “Do you think I’m worried about the Winchesters?” Trickster clucked his tongue. “Oh, Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Everyone has a foe they can’t defeat. Everyone. Even me.” Trickster held up a hand and was suddenly clutching a tin cup. He walked around Sam’s cage, clanging the bars with the cup as he went.

“You and big bro might be the hands of god, or whatever it is they’re calling you these days, but you’re human. I could spend centuries killing you and bringing you back. I could bring back every creature you’ve killed to do it for me. Imagine that. Just a future filled with death.

“Well, I suppose that’s actually all you know, isn’t it? Death. Mostly by your own hand. Hmm. Let me try to make my point a bit differently.” Trickster thought for a moment. “Remember Mystery Spot? Multiply that by infinity.” Trickster turned away then stopped, “but a thousand times more bloody and painful.”

“Let Dean go. I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let Dean go. He won’t come after you as long as you have me.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Dean Winchester not coming after his baby brother?”

“Just let me talk to him first. He won’t. Please. I’m begging you. Let him go.”

“Well, I always did love begging. And you’d just stay here? Inhabit this maybe fake maybe real hell and just burn for the rest of eternity? No fuss?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“What are you doing, Sam? This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean’s your weakness. And all the bad guys know it, too. It’s gonna be the death of you, Sam. Your torture, at the very least.” Trickster stared at Sam. “Sometimes you just gotta let people go, Sammy.”

“Please.”

“You know I told him he could go if he left you here. He walked right out that door.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? I told him he had to torture people to get you back.”

“You what!”

“What did you think was going to happen, Sam? You’re in hell.” Trickster rattled Sam’s cage. “What else would I have Alastair’s favorite soul do?”

“What do you want, Trickster? Why are we really here?”

“I let you all go once. You knew this was me, and you came after me again. Maybe I’m just trying to make a point.”

“You’ve made it,” Sam snarled between gritted teeth.

“I don’t think so, Sammy. I don’t think I’ve made my point at all. But you’ll learn soon enough.”

Trickster stepped back. “Let’s play a game, Sammy.”

“What are the rules?”

Trickster laughed, then disappeared.

*

“Hello, Sam.”

“Lucifer. Of course. You’re not real.”

“You _keep_ saying that. You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

“Not real.”

“Didn’t you miss me, Sammy?” Lucifer pressed Sam against the bars of the cage. “Don’t I feel real?”

“No.”

“Come on, Sammy. Like the old times. Please?”

“You’re not real!”

“No need to yell, Sam. You’ll be screaming soon enough.”

“No,” Sam whispered in horror.

“Is it my face, Sammy? Is that it? I’m not your type? That really stings. But, okay, what about this one?” Lucifer stepped back, morphing into Dean as he did so. “You always loved when I fucked you with his face on, didn’t you Sammy?”

The real Dean was screaming at the Trickster. “Don’t do this to him. Stop! We’ll do whatever you want, just stop this!”

Trickster ignored him.

“Sam! Sam, it’s not me. It’s not Lucifer. It’s not real!”

Lucifer slid his hands over Sam’s shoulders. “Come on, baby boy. Turn around for daddy Dean. Come on, let’s play a game. Hide the sausage?” Lucifer laughed as Sam clutched at the bars. “Do you really call him daddy? That’s filthy Sam, wow. Not only are you fucking your brother, but you call him daddy on top of it?” Lucifer laughed again, this time in Dean’s voice. “You’re really going to enjoy this, then.”

Dean was screaming, but Sammy couldn’t hear him. He wanted the torture to stop. He tried to turn away, to shut his eyes, but he couldn’t.

“You’re not him. You’re not real. You’re not him. You’re not real.”

“You’re right, I’m not him. He left. Took one look at the Pit and fucking _ran_ for the door. Trickster didn’t have to offer but once.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sam whispered.

“Don’t you? I kind of think you do. I kind of think you know Dean couldn’t torture anyone again. Think about what happened to him last time.”

“He wouldn’t leave me like that.”

“Why not? Haven’t you both done it before?”

“No!”

“I beg to differ, baby boy. But don’t worry, Sammy. I can be him for you. It’ll be like he never left.”

“No.”

“Your mouth says no, but my body says yes, Sammy. And you know I always get what I want.”

The real Dean was hammering against Sam’s cage. “Don’t you believe him, Sammy! Don’t you listen! I’m here! I would never leave you! Sam! I’m here!”

Lucifer laughed, a deep dark rumble that had plagued Sam for years. “You always did like to be fucked up against the bars, didn’t you?”

Sam could feel the heat of hell swell against his skin as his clothing vanished. He held on tighter to the bars, knowing what was coming next.

The hell you see in movies isn’t what hell is actually like. Nor is heaven. The human brain cannot fathom the world of spirits. To compensate, hellfire becomes real flame, demons have a human face, cages have real bars.

Sam knew this. When his soul was ripped from his body, he quickly learned what hell was really like. What demons and suffering really look and sound like. Lucifer and Micheal’s true forms. That rape doesn’t actually require a body to be real.

He knew this was all an illusion. He knew Dean – He couldn’t think as Lucifer as Dean pushed his cock into his unprepared body. He knew Dean didn’t leave ( _but if he did, he’d be okay, he’d be alright_ ). He knew it wasn’t real.

That didn’t stop the blood from dripping down his thighs as Lucifer pounded into him as hard and as painfully as he could. It didn’t stop him from breaking down when “Dean” whispered filth into his ears or when he bit his ears and cheeks and shoulders or scratched deep furrows into his back and ass.

“You know I can do this all night, Sam. You remember? Remember trying to sleep with my cock shoved in your mouth? Remember when Micheal finally cracked? When he finally went insane? Oh, he loved that ass as much as I did.”

Sam was silent.

Dean was on his knees, screaming at and begging the Trickster in equal measure. Nothing stopped.

“Always so stoic, aren’t you, Sammy? Let’s see how tough you are with big brother’s arm up your ass, shall we?”

All that was left was the screaming.

*

Sam was nearly catatonic. Deep bite marks littered his chest, his face, his cock. He had broken bones and open wounds. He was covered in blood and sweat and cum. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Dean” lounged in the corner, cock still hard and covered in blood and bits of Sam’s flesh.

“Even better than I remembered, Sammy. No wonder I missed this so much.” Dean’s face faded and Lucifer’s returned. “Oh, look Sammy. You’ve got a visitor.”

Sam didn’t move, not even when Lucifer kicked him viciously in the ribs.

“Get up! You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Can’t even greet your brother?” A new voice. Brother? It definitely wasn’t Dean. Who… Oh no.

“Adam?”

“Oh, now you remember me? Centuries in hell, but now you remember me. Gee, thanks big brother.”

“Adam, we...”

“Don’t. No excuses. You and Dean left me to rot. I spent a lot of time in the cage, you know. Everyone’s always talking about poor Dean and poor Sammy. Trapped in hell for so long.” Sam had sat up and was making his way onto his knees, so he could stand. Adam advanced on him. “But what about poor Adam, huh?”

“Adam...”

Adam kicked Sam in the face. “I said shut up!”

“We tried...” Sam started again.

“You tried? Are you serious? Do you know what it was like watching Death prance in here and snatch you right out from under Lucy’s foot?” Adam wrapped his fingers tightly in Sam’s hair. “Know what it was like hearing him say, ‘Sorry kid, Dean picked Sam again. Settle in. You’re gonna be here awhile.’”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.”

“Adam, no...”

“You haven’t cared about me for years, Sam. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” Adam stared at Sam for a bit. “I take that back. I really, really want to hear you scream.”

The last thing Sam saw for awhile was Adam’s fist.

*

Dean could barely speak, his voice fractured from screaming and crying. “What is it going to take for you to stop this?”

“I guess that’s up to you and Sam.”

“What do you want!” Dean yelled. “What do we have to do?”

“You’re doing it, Dean. Beautifully. What do I want? What everyone who’s ever come across you wants, of course. I want you to suffer.”

Dean collapsed against the cage, his hand stretched through the bars, cupped around Sam’s head as their half brother beat him nearly to death.

“That’s it, Dean. That’s exactly what I want.”

**

Sam came to in one piece but in a lot of pain. Just like he expected. It was how things worked in hell. They tore you apart then put you back together so they had the joy of doing it all again. The pain though that was a constant. Breathe in, pain. Breathe out, pain. Regular as a heartbeat.

Maybe if he didn’t move. If he breathed just so. If he kept completely still.

“Aww, don’t be like that Sammy,” Lucifer cooed. “I know you’re awake. Don’t try to hide.”

Sam simply clenched his eyes closed tighter. Whatever terror they had planned for Sam next could just be done right here. He wasn’t moving.

“Fine, you can lay there. Trickster can do what he’s going to no matter where you are.”

That had Sam’s eyes flying open. Other than mocking him, the Trickster hadn’t gotten personally involved in his torture before now. He was terrified to find out what he had in mind.

“Don’t worry Sammy. He’ll be here soon. He’s busy with a gorgeous blonde right now. You know how he is.”

No, not really. Sam had had no idea how he really was.

“Oh, hey. Since he’s having fun,” Lucifer said seductively, “how about we go another round, huh Sammy?” Lucifer jostled him as he spoke, rocking his body from side to side.

Sam refused to answer so Lucifer climbed on top of him, his knees digging into his thighs, all his weight on Sam. “Ready, sweetheart?”

Sam couldn’t stop the tears, but he’d have given anything at that moment to be anywhere else.

“Here we go.”

**

Dean was so tired. His eyes felt like they were caked with sand and his very bones ached. He supposed he slept after Sam finally passed out, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. He wondered what day it was. If anyone missed them. How long they’d been gone. How long they’d survive.

He wondered what horrors they were in for now and how to kill the Trickster. He wondered a lot of things.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

The Trickster’s voice brought him upright and alert.

“I have a new game for you.”

Sam was silent except for some weak, sobbing breaths and wheezes.

“What do you remember about being soulless? I know the wall Death put up didn’t work very well. Probably most of it, huh?” Trickster crouched down beside Sam. “Wanna do it all again?”

“No!” Sam shouted, voice rough and nearly shot.

“I’m going to build you another wall. This one isn’t in your mind this time, though. This one,” Trickster idly ran his fingers through the blood and gore on Sam’s body, “will be around your soul. All of the benefits, none of the sacrifice. I’d say that’s rather perfect, don’t you?”

Sam began to shake his head increasingly agitatedly. “No. Please. Don’t do that.”

The Trickster flattened his hand over Sam’s core and suddenly Sam felt… a deadness in the middle of his gut.

“Oh, but it’s already done, Sammy. Now you just need to enjoy.”

“Fuck you,” Sam said, calm and steady. “So what’s your next big point, little man? I’d like to get out of here sometime while I’m still young and beautiful.”

“Oh my,” Trickster crowed. “Listen to you! This is going to be fun.” Trickster bounced a little on the soles of his feet. “Come with me.”

Sam straightened up, all his wounds and pain thankfully gone. Trickster led him to another room and pointed to a body in the corner. Dean.

“Remember all those times he hit you for no reason? When he called you a monster? Remember that? Remember how you felt – well, you probably wouldn’t know what that was like when you’re like this. Hmm, let’s see…

“Remember all the time he spent not trusting you when he was really the one that didn’t deserve trust? When he’d be on you for every bad decision, while he seemed to forget all about his own fuck ups.”

Dean was slowly rising to his feet, his muscles aching and his heart broken, wary like any caged animal learns to be.

“Look at him, Sammy. The righteous man. Always blaming you. Always holding you back.”

Sam was getting mad. Dean could tell by the way his shoulders broadened and his forearms flexed as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“This isn’t him, of course. He left long ago. Ran out like a coward the first chance I gave him. But it’ll be cathartic.” Trickster leaned forward. “Go ahead. Work through some of that frustration and anger. He’ll never know.”

Sam turned to look at Dean.

“Sammy, no. It’s me. It’s really me.”

“Realistic, isn’t it?” Trickster said, crossing the room behind Sam’s back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Sam, listen to me. It’s really me, okay?”

Sam studied him for a moment. “He was right. Very realistic.”

Dean moved to touch Sam. “It’s realistic because it’s _me_ , Sammy.” Touching was a mistake.

Sam reacted as he would if Dean were a monster on a hunt, not his brother. He grabbed Dean’s hand and immediately twisted.

“Sam!” Dean yelled as he felt the tendons in him wrist overextend.

“You always were too loud,” Sam muttered and jerked sharply, breaking Dean’s wrist.

Dean cried out, instinctively clutching at his brother. Sam pushed him off.

“I remember all the things you said to me, Dean. All of them. All the things you’ve done.”

“And I remember all the things you’ve said and done, Sam.”

“That’s the problem. I forgive you. You hold on to what I’ve done like proof I’m the monster you really thought I was.”

“No, Sammy, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

“Liar!” Sam shouted, advancing on Dean. “Even as a clone, you’re a liar.”

“Sammy, no.”

“Sammy, no,” Sam mocked. “Sammy, no. So tired of your fucking mouth.”

Dean was tired. He was tired and hurt and broken down. When Sam started punching him, he didn’t bother to fight back. He just covered his face the best he could and dropped to the ground, curling around his core for protection. Maybe he deserved this anyway. Wasn’t that the Trickster’s point after all? They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t deserve to be.

Sam was screaming as he pummeled his brother. Dean, too caught up in the pain, didn’t hear most of them. Some of what he said, though, pierced right through Dean’s haze and did more damage than Sam’s fist ever could.

“I hate you,” Sam was screaming as he beat Dean. “I swear to god, sometimes I hate you!”

Dean knew what Sam meant. He knew because he felt the same sometimes. When the road was gloomy and hopeless and they’d fucked up yet again. When the terrible tangled love for each other went dark and vicious and frightening. He knew. He knew.

“Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you,” Dean whispered, unconsciously mimicking what he said when Sam turned Satan and his world ended for the second time.

“Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you,” he repeated.

Sam faltered, some part of him remembering. He cried out, his hand clutching his chest. He fell to the ground beside Dean and groaned in pain. The wall must have broken.

Sam dragged himself on top of Dean, clutching at him and dragging him even closer.

“I love you. Dean. I love you.”

“I know,” Dean said. “Sammy. I know.”

“It was you all along.”

“Never leave you again, Sammy. It’ll always be me.”

Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck, and Dean cupped his good hand around the back of his head.

“It’ll always be me, Sammy.”

There was a slow clapping and the Trickster’s mocking voice. “Well, that was beautiful!”

“Fuck off,” Sam cried clutching Dean tighter.

“So dramatic,” the Trickster said rolling his eyes. “I’ve had about enough of the not so brotherly love.”

Sam struggled to stand, stretching a hand to the Trickster. “No!”

The Trickster snapped his fingers.

**

Sam woke gasping, an unfinished scream heavy in his mouth. “Dean!”

“It’s alright, Sammy. You’re alright. We’re back at the motel.”

“It’s over?”

“I think so.”

“It’s over,” the Trickster agreed, startling both boys into a yell as they pulled their weapons. “Oh calm down. I think we all know by now that you can’t take me out, so stop the hysterics.”

“What do you want,” Dean spat.

The Trickster held up his hands. “I merely wanted to teach you a lesson, that’s all. I think I did that pretty well.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Don’t come after me again. You won’t like what happens if you do.” He raised his hand to snap, then changed his mind.

He leaned closer to the boys and dropped his voice to an almost whisper. “Consider this a preview. You’re going to destroy each other, Dean. Slowly. Painfully. When that happens, just remember you brought it on yourselves.” In a second, he was gone.

**

Life went on. Days dragged into nights and nights broke into mornings. It took months before Dean could fuck into Sam without hearing “I hate you” ringing in his ears. It took even longer before Sam could stand to be more than an arm’s length away.

Maybe they shared a heaven, but it was their shared hell that colored everything they did. It made them stronger, but carved a chasm right through the middle of them at the same time.

In the end, they did what they always did best. They slid into Baby and threw her in drive.

 


End file.
